


I've Been Upside Down (Can't Find Paradise on the Ground)

by sweeterthankarma



Category: New Amsterdam (TV 2018)
Genre: Bisexual Helen Sharpe, Bisexual Lauren Bloom, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of Minor Character Death, S2E1: Your Turn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: The rooftop is Helen’s space— and Max’s, and oftentimes Max’s and Helen’s— but Lauren and Helen have been sharing it lately. They have a routine: Helen sits down, Lauren rests in her lap, lets her body relax and release the tension that she can’t remember ever not feeling if she’s being really bitterly honest, and Helen embraces her in it.
Relationships: Lauren Bloom/Helen Sharpe
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	I've Been Upside Down (Can't Find Paradise on the Ground)

**Author's Note:**

> Is anyone surprised that I watched that rooftop scene between Lauren and Helen in 2x01 and had to write something? Because I'm not. Emotional bonding is my jam and between these two ladies? Sign me up for all of the hurt/comfort and angst as long as they're smiling and together at the end of it. 
> 
> Title comes from the song "All We Do" by Oh Wonder.

The world is rarely quiet for Lauren, but here, somehow it is. 

The roof of New Amsterdam is both dark and light. The cars that go by honk, pump exhaust, tick their directionals and wait their turn, and from up here, Lauren feels a little reprieve from it all. The distance isn’t permanent but it’s enough to provide an illusion, to make Lauren forget everything she has to do, everything she should be doing. It makes her stop, take a moment to check herself, to quit feeling like she’s wasting time. Like she’s limping along in more ways than one.

The woman beside her helps, too.

Helen breathes deep. In and out, she lets the air flow, tries to maneuver her shallow breaths into something easier, be it more calculated. 

They’re both going through a lot. Too much, if you ask for Lauren’s opinion.

The rooftop is Helen’s space— and Max’s, and oftentimes Max’s _and_ Helen’s— but Lauren and Helen have been sharing it lately. They have a routine: Helen sits down, Lauren rests in her lap, lets her body relax and release the tension that she can’t remember ever not feeling if she’s being really bitterly honest, and Helen embraces her in it. 

It’s simple. Sometimes she brings coffee or snacks or ice for Lauren’s leg, and usually she’ll try to massage it, do her best to ease the strain and bruising. There’s not much she can do though, not much anyone can do. So she just cards her hands through Lauren’s hair, twists the ends of the strands around her fingertips just soft enough for Lauren to almost think she’s imagining it, and it’s an effort. It’s enough.

Besides, she knows this, knows her, knows what this is. She unwinds the breath caught in her lungs in time with Helen’s motions. Nothing is pretend. Nothing is fake. Not with them. 

If anything, it’s a little too real. Lauren is almost scared, would be scared if it was anyone but Helen.

They haven’t defined this, haven’t said a word aloud, but Lauren has her own label tucked in the back of her mind, one she keeps just for herself.

It’s _peace._

It’s nothing new anyway for Lauren to need Helen in this way. She’s always been Lauren’s person, in a deeper sense than Lauren’s had the capacity to describe. After the accident, though, everything feels sort of pivotal, momentous, scary. She doesn’t say it aloud, but with every passing moment she feels like she’s not doing enough. She’s overcome with the urge to savor each second, to exist fully and hope and pray and plead to whatever god above that in six months, she’ll still be able to do this. 

To be alive. To have her job. To heal. To not lose anyone she loves, for people she loves to not lose anyone they love. To have Helen by her side. 

Lauren isn’t sure what motivates her to speak. Lately, she and Helen have just been quiet here. They talk like things are fine almost everywhere else, whether it be in the hallways of the oncology ward or the supply room of the ED, or at the bar on 7th Ave they always meet at after getting Chinese on every other Thursday night. They don’t talk in specifics about what happened. They don’t say Georgia’s name. They pretend they don’t need to talk about it.

Still, Lauren says, “it really has been you and I against the world, huh?” and it’s a frail, unsuccessful attempt at positivity.  
Helen chuckles anyway. Her lips are by Lauren’s ear, her deft fingers dutifully massaging Lauren’s leg. Every now and then, she’s kissed Lauren’s temple, cheek, hair, the back of her neck. It makes Lauren shiver. Makes her feel okay. 

“Since the beginning of time, it feels like,” Helen says. She’s not wrong. Lauren agrees, can’t think of a time when she doesn’t remember relying on Helen, reaching for her; she doesn’t want to think of a time. 

Helen follows the same pattern, squeezes Lauren’s shoulder with her free hand and noses a kiss against her jawbone, just barely there. It’s more like a nudge than anything, but it’s still helpful. Reassuring. Good. 

She’s here. That’s really all that Lauren needs.

She breathes in Helen’s cologne, something fancy and definitely expensive but subtle, just fragrant enough for Lauren to detect it as something more than just the combination of her natural scent and her soap. 

The sun sets slowly tonight. Lauren appreciates it. She savors the normalcy. Tomorrow, they will do this again. Tomorrow, it will get a little easier. 

“I hate to say it,” Lauren says, the first one to speak again, “but I think we have to get up and live our lives now.”

She nuzzles closer to Helen again, but before she can get too comfortable, Helen is hopping to her feet in a way that makes Lauren a little envious. 

She coaxes her to the ground slowly and surely, with firm, grounding hands, and when Lauren is finally upright, Helen has the faintest of a smile on her face. 

“Guess so,” Helen says, “but we’re good at that.”

Lauren doesn’t let go of Helen’s hand the whole elevator ride down to the lobby. Lauren thinks she believes her words, at least a little more than she would’ve yesterday. Maybe tomorrow, she will believe her even more. She hopes she will. Maybe hoping is all that she needs to do.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr under the same username, sweeterthankarma. I have lots of feelings about New Amsterdam and many other fandoms and am always in the mood to talk about them!


End file.
